Food Fetish: A Thanksgiving To Remember ♕

I have a confession to make.

My disappointment in my recent small dick humiliation triggered me so badly that I called up my ex-husband, Jeremy, to see if he’d be interested in having Thanksgiving Dinner with me to satisfy my food fetish. To my surprise, he jumped at the thought.

I showed up midday in his favorite little black dress, the one he always liked to watch me get fucked by black guys in. I’d washed it so many times, but the amount of cum spilled on it permanently dulled its color. Still, when I walked through the door, he was full of smiles, holding two glasses of champagne. We caught up, talked about the past, and the future, about giving each other a chance, and he told me how thankful he was to have me for Thanksgiving and to help me with my secret food fetish.

We cooked dinner together. Turkey. Mashed potatoes. Cranberry sauce. Green bean casserole. Sweet potato casserole. Cherry pie. Pumpkin pie. As I diced carrots and broccoli I caught him checking out my ass. The shape of my calf. The look of my heel and foot line in my four-inch black stiletto heels. I eyed him flirtatiously. If you know anything about me, you know I can give you a cute face. Pouty eyes. A wanting, flirty mouth. Before long, he was under my power, and I knew Thanksgiving was going to be a delightful opportunity for my food fetish.

It felt like old times…

Eventually, everything was ready, and it we started with some appetizers. Deviled eggs. His favorite, and I make the best-deviled eggs. Mmmmm food fetish time. I popped one in my mouth, and before I could chew my first bite his hands were all over me. Not wanting to let the food get cold, I went for it, swallowing the egg whole so I could stick my tongue down his throat. He pulled down my dress and panties and entered me. I moaned as I felt his huge, thick cock burrow into my pussy. Then he turned me around and slammed me into the table. Right into the food!

He pumped my hips hard and fast as my tits burrowed into the cooked turkey, greasing up my breasts, and causing them to slide fast back and forth over the cooked flesh. I was torn between hunger and the desire to cum as my nipples dipped into the cranberry sauce, the sweet potato casserole. Jeremy turned me around and burrowed into my breasts as he continued to fuck me, turkey grease smearing all over his face. He took the can of whip cream and sprayed it on my nipples, sucking them hard as he railed me. I’d never had a Thanksgiving quite like this before.

I was taught not to play with my food, But I have this food fetish.

He grabbed my ass and set me on another part of the table. I landed right on the cherry pie. He kept fucking me and fucking me as he choked me with his greased-up hands, then finally he came in me like a man, like the big, burly man I knew who provided for his wife. He pulled out. I spread my legs as far as I could and pushed his cum out of me. It pooled in the cherry pie I was sitting in. I stuck my finger in it, twirled it around, and sucked it off. It was a Thanksgiving to remember.